


To Himling: Part Seventeen

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [17]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: Stricken by shame, Kíli has withdrawn into a dark place. It will take the love of many to draw him out.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien), Nori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Ori (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: To Himling [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429636
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. Moon of Few

In the days after Kíli’s fall, an arid season took root.

_Trouble, my love..._

Dís stood by the fire, folding clean tunics. She glanced pointedly at her younger son, who had worn the same clothes three days in a row. She kept her tone feather-light; she could have been inquiring about his day, if she had not known he’d spent it right here in this room. 

_Haya and Ori said you don’t want to see anybody. Is that true?_

Kíli smiled. His eyes did not. _I won’t until I want to._

Dís turned back to the hearth. A balmy breeze outside, yet Kíli of all people had barred the shutters and lit a fire. Kíli, who loved a wide-open window… 

_You may not now, love._ Her voice did not quaver; a mother must be firm. _But you’ll have to show yourself eventually._

Hailstone-hard; hailstone-cold, but oddly, still smiling: _Not until I say._

___________________

_He hates everyone now,_ joked Haya down in the kitchen.

_Don’t be a ninny,_ Fenja scoffed. _His heart’s not made for hate._ But she whispered _Mahal forbid!_ all the same.

Day after day, his tray came back no lighter than when she sent it up. Not since he was tiny did Kíli need food held to his lips. Always wanting more, now he wanted none.

_Food for a ghost,_ Fenja thought. _That’s all I’m making._ But she had never been one for surrender. 

_I eat half, you eat half. Understand?_ To prove her seriousness, she plucked a rasher of bacon from his plate and bit it neatly in two, holding out the other piece. 

Kíli studied her face in wary silence, then reached out as if he expected his hand to be slapped.

___________________

_Did you sleep last night?_

_No._

_It’s all right. Maybe you will tonight. Did you pray?_

_No._

_That’s all right, too._ Ori endeavored to sound as though he meant it. _Tomorrow Fíli has to meet with Halfur. I’ll come sit with you again, if you like._

_All right._

For all the eagerness of this reply, Ori might as well have been Thranduil or the Witch of Lórien. 

___________________

In truth, these days Kíli wanted only two companions: noisy Gimli and quiet Hahal. Two dwarves less alike never sat side by side, but together they gave Kíli what he needed.

Every day at noon, they met and marched up the back stairs. Gimli rattled his dice cup in the hallway to signal their arrival, then the three sat cross-legged on Kíli’s bed, casting lots. Hahal spoke little; like Kíli he preferred to listen to Gimli. As ornery as he might be – Torli called him _the little brassneck_ – Glóin’s son made good company, and he told very funny stories.

Kíli’s companions asked no questions. They gave no counsel, nor offered opinions on the fate of a soul in shadow. They never pressed Kíli for his thoughts, nor demanded anything except prompt payment for losses at dice. Most important of all, Hahal and Gimli knew the exact moment to leave, and not once did they make Kíli feel guilty for wanting them to go.


	2. Trying

_‘Ibinê, when did you last bathe?_

_Ww, when you did._

_That’s not true. I bathed yesterday morning while you were still in bed._

A technicality, since in fact, Kíli had not left it yet. 

_You don’t have to go downstairs._ Fíli patted his brother’s shoulder. _I’ll have water brought up—_

_I’m not a baby._

The last time water had touched Kíli’s skin, it was after he’d fallen. Mother had bathed him while he lay senseless, and while he remembered nothing of it, he knew that others did. A look of sympathy from any of them would anger him, but from Fíli...

_I know you’re no baby, Kílimê. I just want you to feel better. We’ll bathe together, you and I, and then I’ll wash your hair._

So Kíli crouched in a flat tub by the fire as Ori did at home, hiding his face in his arms as Fíli drew slow, gentle ovals of soapsuds on his back. When he lifted his head, his eyes were red-rimmed and lost.

Before it could be properly washed, Kíli’s hair needed combing. As Fíli picked apart the mess of snarls strand by strand, he hummed an old nursery tune. Lately Kíli wanted things of childhood; if they comforted him, where was the harm?

After prolonged scrubbing and two rinses, Kíli’s hair shone like a seal’s pelt. Fíli helped him step out of the tub, and this time he did not object to being dried and dressed and brought back to bed.

Fíli plaited Kíli’s hair neat and tight, then wound his arms around his brother from behind. For a time they sat in peaceable silence, nested like two dolls. But Fíli could not hold his tongue for long.

_Kílimê, I was thinking. What if we went to the summer caverns for a few days? Just us, no one else. We could camp in peace. We wouldn’t even have to talk, remember?_

A tiny, noncommittal hum.

_If you don’t want to see anyone, we could leave at night. You and I know the way. We could walk it with our eyes closed._

A long pause, then the faintest whisper: _I don’t want to go_. _I want_ them _to go._

_I know._

_I wish Mahal would p…pick up this house with just our own folk in it and drop it down on Himling rrr…right_ now _._

_I know, yasthûnê. I wish that, too. We both want to go, but we can’t unless you’re well. You understand this, yes?_

Defeat, retreat, silence.

After a moment, Fíli tried again: _Ori’s doing his best with the bees, did you know?_ _He says they forgive him for not being you, but they fly around and around the courtyard, searching. He tells them,_ Don’t worry, our friend won’t stay hidden much longer.

But Kíli would, and Kíli did.

___________________

_A pearl so rare as thee, said he,_   
_Should not to war be going._   
_Then how do you propose, said she,_   
_I practice my axe-throwing?_

Long before first light, the household began to make its own music. Broomstraws flicked rhythmically across slate floors. Water splashed across stone. From the spout of the great copper hearth-kettle came the shrill keel of escaping steam. But it was Haya’s voice that set all this in motion. Her morning song gave order to the day.

_A gem so fine as thee, said he,_   
_Should at her loom be tarrying._   
_Then whom do you suppose, said she,_   
_Should all these stones be carrying?_

Bleary-eyed from fitful sleep, Fíli drifted into the kitchen. He hooked his foot around the leg of a stool to pull it closer to the bread-oven’s warmth as Haya poured coffee for two. Each brushed the rim of their mug against their lips to gauge its heat, then took small, grateful sips.

 _Is he…?_ Haya presently whispered.

_Like a bear in a winter cave._

_I’ve got everything ready. Do you think it will work?_

_We have to try._

_Check the loaves at the chime of the clock. If they’re brown on the bottom and sound hollow when you knock them—_

_I know. Fenja’s been drilling me. It’ll be fine._

It took Haya three trips: one for firewood, another for the food tray, and the last for the makings of her special scheme. The first two she managed to bring in without waking Kíli; the third required more fanfare.

 _Look, Lazy!_ she called, bumping the door open with her hip. _Paper and brushes and paint that Nun’el made!_

A pair of bloodshot eyes glowered at her over the coverlet. 

_The thing is, you can’t try them until you’ve eaten everything I cooked for you,_ Haya told Kíli. _Everything, down to the last lick. It’s very sad, but that’s the rule._

He pondered her bargain, but not for long.

They spent the rest of the morn tracing designs with charred willow twigs, then coloring them in. Kíli went slowly, for his pen-hand remained unreliable. He drew Dajnûna and her fawns in the deer forest, with Thorinutumnu high above on the mountain. No pain or loss; no dragons or Arkenstones; nothing of gold unless you counted the sun in the sky. The only thing that spoke of Kíli’s pain was a little blue wolf sitting on the highest parapet, looking west to a tiny island across a pale green sea.

 _It’s really good, Kíli!_ Haya exclaimed.

Laughing, Kíli cried; crying, Kíli laughed, and Haya carefully slipped the painting out from under his clenching hands.


	3. Journey

In the end, it took one day to demolish the fortress Kíli had built around himself.

First came a cooling rain that lured him to open the shutters. A small thing, but one that paved the way for greater.

Next, Dori arrived with the breakfast tray. Like Ori, he was soft-natured; like Nori, he possessed a guileful streak. 

_These Spur-Folk and their bottomless bellies!_ he grumbled, arranging the dishes to show off their succulence. _They ask for roast boar, cider-basted; egg bread and cloudberry jelly, and fresh cream. To DRINK! Can you imagine?_

Kíli’s tongue gave his upper lip the tiniest lick.

_Fenja gives them mountain fare instead,_ continued Dori, deliberately avoiding Kíli’s eye. _You know the kind. Chestnut porridge, fried ham and apples, potato mash, molasses gingerbread. Day and night these people eat. What pantries they must have at home!_

_Like Bag End,_ suggested Kíli, rolling the hem of the bread-basket napkin between finger and thumb.

_Oh, even bigger, I’d wager. If they drink fresh cream every day, think of what else they keep in stock! Acres of honeycomb, gallons of molasses at the turn of a tap…tarts of all flavors, with syllabub to wash them down… entire halls roped to the rafters with every kind of sausage…_

_Bombur should move there,_ mumbled Kíli around a mouthful of hot bannock. _Bombur would—_

_Oi!_ Dori cut in.

Startled, Kíli halted mid-chew and stared down at the bread in his hands. When did he take it? How had he eaten so much of it without even thinking?

_(hungry, i’m hungry)_

_Kíli, my lad, the bread is so plain,_ Dori wheedled, as innocent as you please. _There’s butter here. Won’t you have some?_

___________________

At the noon hour, a rhythmic jingling sounded in the hallway. 

_Kíli!_ A fist thumped the door, making Dori jump and curse. _Kíli! Ai, Kíli, let me in! I’ve such a surprise for you!_

In burst Gimli, followed by Jera, wielding her drum like a war shield. Over her peach sarafan, the Spur-maiden wore a voluminous silk shawl of bright scarlet, the color of the sacred forge. The same hue stained her palms.

_I asked, and she said yes!_ Gimli crowed. _Kíli, she’s going to heal you!_

_Not really,_ scoffed Jera. _It’s just a game._ She bowed theatrically to Kíli. _Eh, Zirnul._

_Eh, Ukhramûna._ Kíli had not decided on an epithet for her yet, other than She Who Calls Me Names.

Dori’s eyes narrowed, and rightly. What was the maxim? _Scratch a Firebeard, and a thousand luck-charms tumble out._ The girl had stepped through the door frame and over the threshold without touching either. Her feet were as bare as a hobbit’s, and her hair lay unbraided over her shoulders— odd indeed for a Khuzd at midday. As for Gimli, that child of a Firebeard mother had rushed to douse the hearthfire with ashes— paving the way for witchery, no doubt!

Hiding a shudder, Dori hastened to his feet. _I really must get this tray back to Fenja,_ he muttered. _She’ll wonder if I lost it._

As the door latch clicked, Jera twirled her drum like a jester. _Look at you scowl!_ she teased Kíli. _As if something worried you, but this can’t be— and why?_ She struck a comic pose. _Because Jera is here!_

But Kíli shrank back against the headboard, away from her. _Why, why are you-your hands red?_

Comprehension struck, followed by penitence. _Don’t worry. It’s only a dye that comes from a harmless plant with pretty little flowers like shooting stars. It goes with the game I want to show you._

Kíli’s curiosity outpaced his caution. _Wh-what happens in this game?_

Jera smiled and twirled her drum again. Its pendants and tinklers sent up a merry din. _My friend here will take you traveling. You’ll see and hear things. It will seem strange, but after a little while nothing will surprise you. Just remember that however far you go, there’s a way back. All right, tâhaljimê?_

This last word – pal of mine – kindled a flame of trust within Kíli’s chest. _All right,_ he told her.

_Then lie flat and close your eyes._

As Kíli stretched out on the pallet, Jera held her drum out for Gimli to hold, then unwound her shawl. Unlike Haya’s humble wrap, this one was large enough to cover Kíli completely. Beneath, all was soft crimson light, oddly soothing; the smooth fabric felt like cool water wherever it touched his skin.

_Ready, Zirnul?_

_I-I… yes._

_Remember, don’t be afraid._ With that, Jera took back her drum and began to tap two fingers upon its mottled skin.

___________________

For a time nothing happened. Jera’s rhythm fell like a steady rain, without emphasis or end. Gradually, muscle by muscle, Kíli felt himself sink into the pallet. He heard gannets crying in the distance; he imagined them soaring above the pitch and roll of the surf. Soon he flew with them at exhilarating speeds, banking and dipping, catching each rise of the wind. When they dove, so did he— through air, through water, through sunlight and spray.

Then everything slowed and darkened, and Kíli found himself in a dry, hot, pitchblack place, nestled against the side of some giant, unseen beast.

He ought to have been afraid. Instead, the throaty rumble of the monster’s breath and the cadence of its heartbeat soothed him. He knew this beast, and it knew him. It _wanted_ him there; the fact seemed as solid and sure as the vast, living, breathing body that curved to shelter him. He combed his fingers through its shaggy fur and felt a growl of approval rise from deep within.

_You’re unhappy,_ it said. _You’ve been hiding away._

_Yes._

_What troubles you, little one?_

_I don’t know._ This was not enough, and Kíli knew it. He tried again. _Nothing’s safe._

_You’re safe down here,_ the bear – it _was_ a bear - told him. Persistent, patient: _What troubles you?_

_I shamed myself and my family in front of people we don’t know. They don’t know us, either, but when they saw me fall, they laughed._

_And you will fall again, and they will laugh again. You can’t stop either from happening._

_I know. But…_ Kíli grabbed two big handsful of fur. _I want to stay here._

_You belong elsewhere. But you may come whenever you feel afraid. You will always find me here. Nothing will touch you, nor any danger approach you, while you are here with me. Sleep now, cub._

Kíli obeyed, burrowing deep into the thick fur. It was true: nothing could touch him. He felt inutterably happy, cherished and secure, like a babe at the breast.

In time the warm wind returned, lifting and bearing him along. The gannets cried once more; the red caul peeled away; cool air caressed his skin. He opened his eyes to Jera watching him from the chair, her drum now silent.

_How do you feel?_ she inquired.

_I’m well._

_Did you dream?_

_I..._

Conscious of Gimli’s expectant eyes, Kíli paused. All of a sudden he desired very much to keep what had happened inside of himself, for a time at least. His face must have shown it, for with the skill of Eärendil piloting his starry vessel, Jera deftly brought the conversation about.

_Oi! Gimli!_ she cried. _Did I tell you the story of how my mother met Kíli’s mother and tried to marry us off to each other? It’s a real blood-curdler!_

___________________

When the time came to depart, Jera sent Gimli ahead and stood astride the threshold, smiling back at Kíli. _Well, Zirnul, by the look in your eyes, I take it you dreamt._

_Yes._

_Did you meet anyone in your dream?_

_Yes._

_Did they make you happy?_

Kíli pressed his left hand just below his ribs to show contentment.

_Good. Now that you’ve found your friend, you won’t need mine._ Jera gave her drum a shake, then regarded Kíli gravely. _You’re much missed among the folk. They all understand now, and they ask for you. Will they see you soon, tâhaljimê?_

_Yes, Kharmûna,_ he replied— a small alteration, but potent. She Who Calls Me Names had become She Who Shares My Name.


	4. Pure

That evening, Kíli asked Fíli to take him to the bath-hall.

Men are stinting with their words, forcing one to do the work of many. Being that a palmful of water dipped from a basin is different from a plunge in the ocean, why use the same word for both? Khazâd understand this; they know that meaning hinges on who speaks and who listens, and with what intention and inflection. The specific term for _bath_ that Kíli chose, the fact that he asked Fíli to _watch_ him, not _join_ him, in the water– all these made a world of difference.

A Man would think only that Kíli wanted to be clean. A Khuzd would know that Kíli wanted to be healed.

As soon as Fíli conveyed the news to Dís – in _iglishmêk_ , for a witness must refrain from speech until the rite is finished – she and Fenja began to gather the essentials. There must be dried pine resin and red crystal salt, fragrant oil and pure white linen, a fire kindled of seven boughs, bread and fresh-drawn milk… As they worked, they thanked Mahal in fervent whispers. He had answered their prayers in Kíli’s own voice.

___________________

Come midnight, a scarlet cloth draped the bath-hall door, forbidding entry to any but the brothers.

They undressed themselves and loosened their plaits, carefully laying their hair ornaments side by side. A handful of pine resin fed to the fire begat sacred smoke to permeate their prayers.

The rite called for two large bowls: one of fresh water, one of consecrated salt. As his _nadad_ filled the first at the coldspring, Kíli nested the other in his lap, winnowing the top layer of crystals through his fingers. He waited for Fíli to place his bowl between them; then he dug deep, filling his fist and holding it out over the water.

 _I’m ash-ashamed about falling,_ he whispered, opened his hand, and let go.

Salt grains pattered like raindrops, sparkling as they sank.

Another fistful. _I, I feel stupid because… I can’t keep it from happening._

Fíli said nothing. A witness must do only that– witness while the other works. But he could touch, so he leaned forward to give Kíli’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

Another fistful. _When I found out everyone saw me fall, I wanted to disappear, be small like d_ … dust.

Another. _I didn’t want you to help me, though you all tried. I hated being so angry, but I couldn’t stop myself._

Another. _What I’m really angry at is the hand that held the mace that struck my head— but what’s the point? The hand, the mace, it’s all gone. All that’s left is me, falling._

From time to time – blocked by his own treacherous tongue – he shed tears of frustration, his salt-filled fist wavering over the water. Then Fíli squeezed his shoulder again, and the fetter loosened.

 _I know everyone sees what’s wrong with me and everyone forgives me when I fall, but that doesn’t make it any better. It just means that nothing will ever change and I’ll, I’ll nnnn…_ never _get better and always be this way and I can’t get used to it, I can’t, Fíli. I don’t want to be ill for the rest of our lives. I, I’m, I’m_ afraid _, afraid that that I won’t ever get to Himling with you, or that even if I do, I’ll just be useless and let you and Mother and everyone down._

Each salt crystal transmuted Kíli’s grief into strength, weakening the shadow that tyrannized his soul. Eventually the word-flow began to wind down. The deep vein would soon be struck.

 _We’re going to make a new life together, Mim,_ Kíli said. He sounded tired but no longer unhappy; his concluding words floated to Fíli’s ear, softest of all those spoken: _I miss the old one, though._

And he tipped the last of the salt from his bowl into the other.

___________________

After the ancestors’ food offering, the brothers filled the deep cistern. 

To purify himself completely, Kíli needed to immerse himself from toe-tip to the very ends of his hair. Three descents, three surfacings, and he would walk away unburdened. Together, he and Fíli labored to turn the great spigot that opened the lock-gate. Forge-heated seawater roared into the cistern, sending up eddies of steam.

Plain talk was permitted now. Fíli went first, as was the witness’ right. _You said you miss the old life. Do you mean our life before we went with Thorin?_

 _Nooo… not so much that._ That _was real. I meant… my hopes for something that didn’t exist yet._

_What do you suppose it would have been like, if it had existed?_

Kíli sighed. _Oh, just… US, all together. We wouldn’t be rich, and none of us would be King, but there would be no reason to cry. I thought once…_ Fingers interwoven, he stretched his arms out before him. _. It’s stupid, but I thought may-maybe we would build a little town in the cliffs overlooking the sea. All those little caves— like ours, you know, Mim? Only bigger._

Fíli chuckled, remembering the tight fit _. What about Himling?_

_Th… Thorin would be here. He’d help us rebuild it._

_And us?_

A soft laugh: _We’d still be welded. But you wouldn’t have to tend to me, because I wouldn’t have hurt my head._

_Oh, Naddith._

When the water neared the graven high-mark, they braced their feet once more to reduce the torrent to a trickle. Three times Fíli watched his _yasthûn_ disappear below the rippling surface and reappear again. _Yesterday I’d have feared he might not come back up,_ he thought. _Yesterday I must have trusted him less. We shared this shadow without knowing it._

 _Mim!_ Eager Kíli hung on to the side of the cistern. _The water’s for you, too!_


	5. Whole

As many tones of voice exist in lovemaking as in talk. Mischief, confidence, consolation, joy— Fíli and Kíli expressed all this and more over the years. Sometimes they parried and played; other times they loved in reverent silence. Tracing one another’s battle scars, they voicelessly declared, _See? Not even this could take away what the Maker made for me._

Tonight, they spoke of relief, of feeling safe. For the last moon, they'd trod an endless, restless round, each tethered to his own track; now they joined again like two drops of water on a leaf.

After their bath had come the anointing, meant to retether an errant soul to its body—or, in this case, two. Kneeling on cushions by the fire, the brothers used the fragrant oil generously, lovingly, melding smooth their ragged seam. Touch flowed into touch, natural and perfect in the eyes of the Maker.

As his brother filled him, Fíli felt his mind empty, all its penned-up clamor replaced with grateful silence. He opened himself utterly, pulling Kíli in, giving all he could. No walls, no masks, no words to hide behind. They were one, as Mahal decreed.

When pleasure overtook them, it did so fast and fierce; there was no time even to tamp down a shout. Fíli felt Kíli surge forward into him, trembling; the same shudder coursed through his own body. And then they were floating free, the two of them alone, high above the passing storm, bathed in the sun’s glow.

___________________

Afterward, they lay hip to hip as Kíli played with Fíli’s fingers, folding them toward his palm and then working them straight again. _I’m hungry,_ he announced, as if it surprised him.

Fíli snickered. _We’d have to move,_ he pointed out.

_So?_

_You ARE feeling better._

With much grunting, Kíli dragged his _nadad_ atop him, trapping him between his legs. Fíli took advantage of his change in position to lift his brother’s arm and rake the backs of his fingers lightly through the blaze of black hair that grew there. He leaned forward and pressed his face into the warm hollow. The scent of precious balsams still rose from Kíli’s skin, mingled with aromas more intimate, more rich—

 _Mim._ Kíli’s voice dipped to a confiding murmur. _While, while you were gone… Jera showed me a thing with her drum._

_Tell me._

At the conclusion of Kíli’s tale, Fíli smiled. _It doesn’t surprise me that your guardian came to you in that shape. Bears are like wolves._ He rubbed his nose against Kíli’s. _They protect their own._

_I’d have been your bear today._

Fíli smiled. _I believe you, Cub. I’ve seen and felt your teeth. Would you have shown them to the elders?_

Grinning, Kíli nipped Fíli’s shoulder – once, twice – and then sucked the marks, mouth soft and wet amid beard-bristle. 

_Ah,_ said Fíli. He felt easy and indulgent, released from anxiety’s talons. Pushing himself up, he planted one elbow on either side of Kíli’s ribs and leaned forward to kiss his brow, pale and pure against black hair. _What do you want to do with all this new strength of yours?_ he asked.

Kíli stretched mightily, body rippling like a temblor while an amused Fíli held on. _Tend my bees. Learn more. Work on our book,_ he yawned, fingertips ghosting over Fíli’s shoulders. _Www…we can’t lose our purpose. I see that now._ He wound his arms around Fíli’s waist. _I won’t disappoint you, Fílimê. I promise I’m going to get stronger for both of our sakes. I, I mean, I fall sometimes; I can’t help it. But I can help you not to fall. That’s why Mahal made me._

Fíli kissed his _yasthûn_ again. _Then my thanks be to him, and my blessings to you._

When the fire died down they ascended to their room, weary but blessed, the scarlet banner draped over them as one. 

___________________

The following morning, Ori ceded his place at the the bee-skep. Its occupants swarmed Kíli as they would a coveted flower, clinging to him with thrumming wings. With a laugh he gave them leave, arms outflung as if poised for an embrace.

 _Ah, Trouble, see how you are loved,_ said Dís, softly clapping her palms together.


End file.
